


Silence

by Josselin



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 14:00:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Josselin/pseuds/Josselin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Brian Kinney fucks in his loft and no one says anything, it's like he never really fucked at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence

**Author's Note:**

> It was inspired when Starla and I were talking about this quote from [Sesto's Aria](http://seperis.illuminatedtext.com/other/sestosaria.html):
> 
>  
> 
> _"Maybe it wasn't like that," Justin says, and his voice is so low that Ethan has to strain to hear it. "Maybe I never stopped. Maybe I was fucking him all along. Every time I told you that I had to work late, I was getting fucked in the bathroom of the diner. Every time I was at Michael's working on the comic, I had Brian's cock in my mouth. When I didn't answer my cell, I was getting my ass reamed out and couldn't hear it over my screaming. Maybe it was all a lie. Maybe that was how it was."_
> 
>  
> 
> Rated NC-17, no season four spoilers (and please don't tell me any, I avoid spoilers). Thanks to Starla and Jenn for their encouragement as I was writing. Feedback welcome, as always.

From the beginning, there was an almost magical understanding that if neither of them talked about this, than it wasn't really happening. When Justin thought about it cynically, he figured that that principle had pretty much governed most of his life with Brian. But this was different now, this was not just about avoiding the words "relationship" and "partner," this wasn't just about not exchanging names or numbers, this was about total silence. If Justin walked in the door and out the door without a word ever being spoken, then it was like the door had never even opened. Brian lived his life on display, but this was private. Justin's life was full of words about love and romance, but there were no words here, because words were bullshit.

If Brian Kinney fucks in his loft and no one says anything, it's like he never really fucked at all.

* * *

The first time happened when Brian was drunk.

Justin had come back to the loft to collect the last of his things, and he had purposefully come on a Saturday night when he was sure that Brian was going to be out clubbing or fucking or whatever Brian felt in the mood for.

He had gathered the stuff he wanted in his backpack and was about to leave, but he really had to take a piss and it was a long walk back to Ethan's place, so he decided to avail himself of Brian's toilet.

And when he was in the bathroom, he saw it. He has no idea why it was there, sitting next to the shaving bowl on the counter in the bathroom, of all places. But really, this particular thing didn't belong anywhere in Brian's loft, so the bathroom counter was probably just as good a place for it as any.

Justin frowned, wiped his hands on the towel, and squinted at the article, which was sort of crumpled and smudged with uneven edges, as though it'd been hastily ripped from a paper and tucked in someone's pocket. "Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Arts Recognizes Dean's List Honorees." Under the headline was a brief statement about the school and then a list of the students that had been recognized that term. Justin's name was toward the end because they were listed alphabetically, and it happened to be spread over two lines: Justin, line break, Taylor.

He looked at his name for a second, the way it was divided in print, and indulged himself in feeling melodramatic and artistic and literary and decided that it was really representative of his life, because fuck if he didn't feel a little divided at the moment.

After a frozen moment when the division of his life was a sharply painful as when his father had first told him to never come back home again, Justin began to wonder how the article got there.

Well, how it got there was sort of obvious--Brian must have put it there. Justin supposed that maybe Debbie or Lindsay could have planted it or something, but Debbie seemed thrilled with Ethan now and still pissed at Brian for decking Michael, and Lindsay's style was more persistent, never-ending bitchy phone calls than worn newspaper articles hidden in the bathroom. Keeping newspaper clippings in the bathroom wasn't really Brian's style, either, but Brian had certainly done stranger things before.

Justin's speculations turned to how Brian had gotten the article in the first place. His mind flitted through images and dismissed them just as quickly, shaking off images of Brian at work, paging through the paper while sipping five dollar cups of coffee. The picture of Brian in the diner lingered, though, and he could almost see Brian carefully avoiding getting grease stains on the paper and surreptitiously ripping the article out and shoving it in his breast pocket when Michael wasn’t looking.

Justin was startled from his contemplation of the article by the sound of voices outside the loft door.

His eyes darted around the room, frantically searching for a way out of this, as though looking harder was going to make a secret exit door appear under the bathroom sink or something. Of course no exit conveniently appeared, and he felt paralyzed hearing the loft door slide open and Brian and Michael’s voices float in.

Michael’s voice had a defensive tone to it, and he was saying something about how he had to go home because he understood what it meant to be part of a couple.

Brian snorted, and made a snarky quip, and Justin’s heart pounded faster as he heard footsteps approaching the bathroom. He should step out, now, he thought, walk out of the bathroom confidently, say “Hey” casually to Brian and Michael, explain that he came for his stuff, and grab his bag and be out of here.

But he couldn’t move—it was like those months after the bashing when he could sit on the couch and think about going outside and find it utterly impossible to move at all, hyperventilating until he collapsed, and the only way he could even get out of bed in the morning was just by not thinking about it.

Justin could hear the refrigerator door opening, and Michael was complaining about Brian’s new brand of bottled water, and suddenly Brian was there, standing in the doorway to the bathroom, looking Justin over with slightly furrowed eyebrows.

Justin waited, his heart still pounding frantically, sure that Brian was going to bark a question at him and Michael was going to come over and try to convince him to move out of state or something, and maybe that really wasn’t all that bad of an idea--

Brian only paused for a moment, though, and then he was pushing past Justin to piss, acting as though Justin were completely invisible except for the hand on his chest moving him off toward the shower. Brian washed his hands and then wandered back down the steps, adopting a sickeningly sweet tone and assuring Michael that he would languish away without him, but he understood why Michael was so anxious to get home and take his laundry out of the dryer.

There were more words—whiny laughs from Michael and low tones from Brian—and they blended together in Justin’s mind as though they were part of the furnishings and atmosphere of the loft itself.

The loft door opened again, and shut, and the voices ended, fading into the sound of the elevator, and Justin tried to get himself to move again, to step out and explain this to Brian, but suddenly Brian was back in the doorway again, frowning a little bit and stepping closer, and it looked as though Brian were maybe about to say something and Justin suddenly couldn’t take that. He took a step closer, and he meant to kiss Brian, to press their lips together fiercely and flabbergast Brian and then stalk out of the loft, but he found himself shaking and burying his head in the crook of Brian’s neck, instead, sniffing Brian’s skin.

Justin still felt half-paralyzed, and for a moment, he could feel Brian’s muscles tense as well, but then Brian came to life, lifting his arms and using one to tuck Justin’s head neatly under his chin, the other to wrap tightly around Justin’s back.

Justin sniffled a little bit, pointedly not crying, and he started to breathe deeper and calm down a little bit. He came back to himself, and then he began to pull away from Brian, planning to step away and finally leave and get out of here, but Brian’s hand was still cradling the back of his head, and Brian didn’t seem quite ready to let him go. Justin made a little whimpering sound as he tugged his hair away from Brian’s fingers, and Brian made a little sound of negation, and then their lips met.

Justin’s eyes opened wide for a second, but then he closed them, tightly, as though closing them could turn back time and make this feel wholly right, and he kept his eyes closed as Brian led him step by step, walking backward slowly toward the bed.

Afterward, Brian feathered kisses down his chest, and Justin still kept his eyes closed, but now it was so the tears wouldn’t leak out.

* * *

The second time it was Sunday morning, and Ethan was practicing. Justin left Ethan’s place with his backpack, intending to head to the library to study and finish his art history paper, but he found himself standing in front of the loft door, instead.

For half an hour he just sat on the rumpled duvet cover, watching Brian snore. He doodled in his notebook, and then was suddenly inspired to finish a drawing that he’d been struggling with all week. Anticipation only enhances enjoyment so much, though, and soon he was dropping his sketchbook to the floor and pulling away Brian’s sheets to suck his cock.

The interludes happened, sometimes once a week and sometimes twice, and that horrible week that happened to be finals and the anniversary of the prom it happened four times, and the third time Justin swore he almost saw a tear in Brian’s eye, as well, but he couldn’t be sure.

In between times, they talked, sometimes. Brian insulted him at the diner and commented on his wardrobe and asked how many vaginas he’d drawn recently. At first it was as though the magic was confined to Brian’s loft, but then there was one morning in the diner bathroom, when Brian stared at Justin pointedly without a word through an entire cup of coffee, and then Justin sucked Brian off desperately, getting the knees of his jeans damp with god-knows-what from the disgusting grime on the floor.

After that, it was as though the first few moments between them were it—were the determining pivotal moments that would decide what was going to happen. Sometimes they drew out, Justin holding his breath until he couldn’t stand the suspense any longer and he’d say, “Hey,” just to have it out there, just to throw down the gauntlet and say, not this time. To take away the agonizing potential. Sometimes he’d wait, desperate behind an attempt at confidence, purposefully going out front to light a cigarette as Brian left the diner after dinner, pathetically hopeful that Brian wouldn’t say anything to him but might tilt his head toward his new ‘Vette, instead, signalling a secret ride back for a secret fuck. Brian usually disappointed him, usually walked out with his arm around Michael’s shoulders and shot Justin a “Hey,” or a “Later,” or he just ignored Justin entirely.

Moments like those, Justin was reminded of why he was with Ethan.

* * *

At first Justin discovered something of his every time he went over to the loft, but eventually, he started leaving something of his every time he went over there, and that's how he knew things were changing.

Things were changing for Brian, too. It was as though Brian’s secret glee at having proven a monogamy point had worn off, and now Brian was sick of all the games.

The sex got rough, one night, and Brian started to suck on Justin’s neck. Justin tugged at Brian’s hair, frantically, trying to keep him from leaving a mark, but Brian nipped at Justin’s skin with his teeth, and Justin was about to say something, about to break the barrier in his throat and allow the words to come out, to say, “Brian, stop,” or “Brian, no.”

Those words would only be the beginning, Justin was sure. Earlier, in the first weeks, it was as though the silence was Brian’s protection from Justin’s indecision, Justin’s words about love. It had a been a confirmation of sorts—we’re not in a relationship, we’re just fucking, and look, I’m not a girl, we don’t even have to talk about it. But then, it was as though the silence became Justin’s protection. It kept the diatribes about love and monogamy and loyalty away from Brian’s lips, though they still seemed to sear through his eyes.

Justin was about to speak, to stop Brian from marking him and to take the resulting lecture and derision, but then Brian stopped and pulled out, staring at Justin for a moment with a look of contempt on his face. Then he flipped Justin over, and they finished without looking at each other.

They lay on the bed later, Justin facing away from Brian until he finally got up, quietly, and pulled his clothes on, gathering his things together and heading down the steps with his shoulders hunched.

He could hear Brian sit up, behind him, rustling on the bed. “Justin,” Brian said, and Justin froze on the second step like a startled rabbit. He turned around in time to see Brian sliding to the edge of the bed, and it was all he could do to look at Brian with pleading in his eyes. No, his eyes said desperately. No, I can’t do it, don’t make me, no… His voice was frozen had he even wanted to talk, and he could feel panic beginning to spread inside him.

Brian held his captive gaze for a moment before letting it go with a shake of his head. Whatever Brian had been going to say was forgotten as Brian padded off to the shower, and Justin took the escape that was offered him and ran, quite literally, tripping a little on the steps out of the building down to the sidewalk, and almost running into an old lady on the street corner.

That was almost the end of it. It really only took that one word to break the spell, to make Brian’s eyes pass over Justin at the diner, to make Justin’s hand shake nervously until he spilled a little of Brian’s coffee just so he’d have an excuse to say, “Sorry.”

Time passed. Ethan turned out to be just as hypocritical as Justin himself, and Justin was still furious at him, because Ethan had truly proved Brian right. Justin had hated himself, before, been angry with himself for being dishonest and deceitful and fucking hypocritical, but there was no reason to hate himself anymore, because it was now quite clear that it was impossible for any man to be monogamous, whether it was his father bonking his redheaded secretary or Emmett’s latest in-flight entertainment with Dijon. Justin was still furious at Ethan, though, because Ethan had ruined his dream. Justin had believed in something, or had fucking wanted to believe in something, and Ethan had ruined it for him, had shoved in his face that romance was all about delusions and shit and there was never anything beneath it and Justin didn’t think he could ever forgive Ethan for ruining his ideal.

Ideals change, though, particularly in nineteen year olds, and more time passed. Justin decided that Daphne was the ideal best friend, that Rage was the ideal superhero again, that Ben had the ideal shoulders, steroid thing aside. He had new dreams, ones about a man who never said a word. He began to think about an episode of Rage where a masked and silent Rage fought an evil villain who manipulated words as his tools.

So he got his job at Vanguard. And he realized that Brian manipulated words as well as anyone, and better than most. He manipulated some words himself, gleefully trapping Brian into letting him keep his job with the trick about paying for his education, and was happy about more than getting the job. He walked out of Brian’s office with an unrepentant grin on his face, just because it was good to talk to Brian again, good to banter with him, to see his confounded frown but force him to come out with words anyway. It reminded him of the times Brian had told him dirty jokes during sex, or the times they wrestled and traded quips during foreplay.

He followed Brian to Babylon that evening, keenly aware that Brian was irritated with him, and managed to come up behind Brian as Brian was walking down the alley outside.

Brian turned as he got close, because Brian always sensed people coming up behind them, and before he knew it, Brian was grabbing him and shoving him up against the brick wall, and Justin didn’t even get a chance to say anything because then Brian was sticking his tongue in Justin’s mouth.

It was good, because god, he’d missed this, but he wanted to say something, even if it was just Brian’s name, wanted to be sure that this was different, wanted to tell Brian that he wasn’t afraid anymore, that he wasn’t ever going to be afraid again, and he couldn’t, because Brian had unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down and already had him turned up against the wall with hand over his mouth, anticipating him and trying to reassert his authority. My rules, Brian’s hand tried to say, and it was hard to argue with that when he really wanted to be right here.

Brian left him somewhat stunned in the alley, and as Justin wiped himself off and pulled his pants back up, he was pissed off, irritated with himself for letting Brian get away with that, and determined to make Brian understand that this was different. Brian probably thought he’d wander home now that he got his rocks off, but Justin went into the club instead to hunt Brian down. He was going to make Brian listen.

THE END


End file.
